


It's Free Real Estate

by thenameiwantedwastaken



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Eavesdropping, Eventual Smut, M/M, god there's so much eavesdropping, not beta read we publish and run like cowards
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-19 12:37:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22844422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thenameiwantedwastaken/pseuds/thenameiwantedwastaken
Summary: This whole crisis is Derek's own damn fault.or, after Stiles gets his tonsils out he can't help but wonder about all the space that's just been freed up.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 45
Kudos: 128





	1. if you're gonna sit there and lurk you gotta be prepared for what you might hear, man, this is stalking 101, dude, honestly

**Author's Note:**

> this document is called "autobiographical raps. bring the rhymes" in my drive because it is, tragically, inspired by a true story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't anticipate this being that long, so ideally i'll be able to knock it out in a couple weeks. i'm gonna update the tags as i go, so i'm not promising something i can't deliver on yet. no misleading advertising here, we're all about true transparency in this house babeyyyy

This whole crisis is Derek’s own damn fault.

There seems to be, finally, a sort of lull in the supernatural threat department. It’s come at a good time - it’s summer, Scott’s doing summer school, Lydia’s dragging Jackson to college campus tours, and Stiles is recovering from having his tonsils out. While they could  _ probably _ manage to struggle their way through a high stakes battle, it’s nice that they don’t need to.

The biggest stress in the pack right now is the aftermath of Stiles’ tonsillectomy. About a month ago, he’d started showing up to pack nights at Derek’s with a low fever and complaining of a scratchy throat. Everyone got sick of him whining and made Scott get his mom to check him out. She’d taken one look down his throat, using the back of a spoon as a tongue depressor, and said, “kid, your tonsils are the size of golf balls.”

Stiles had shrugged, and flung his arms out to the side, like,  _ what can you do? _ He promised Melissa that he’d go to a doctor if things got worse.

Four days later, after the Sheriff found Stiles drooling sadly into a cup in the kitchen - “Stiles, I am taking you to the  _ hospital. _ Your tonsils are  _ touching, _ you can’t even swallow!” - and the next pack movie night was held at the Stilinski household, to accomodate for a freshly post-op Stiles, drugged to high heaven.

Two weeks on, Stiles is healing well. He’s healthy, there are no complications, but there’s still a small sense of unease in the pack, knowing that a pack member is hurting and they can’t help. It’s too subtle for most of the wolves to pick up on - Jackson especially straight up doesn’t give a shit - but for those who are closer to Stiles, there’s a nagging worry about him. Erica texts Stiles twice as much as she usually does, and Scott actually spends every other day hanging out with Stiles, instead of gluing himself to Allison’s side. Stiles will heal, sure, but he heals slow, and it’s making their wolves anxious.

Derek also worries. He’s the alpha, after all, and one of his pack is hurt. His worry comes from a sense of professional courtesy.

Yeah. It’s professional courtesy that keeps him on the roof of Stiles’ house every night.

Derek wishes he could say he just keeps an eye out for Stiles on nights when the Sheriff’s working and Scott’s not staying over, but that would be a lie, and it’s not like he’s ever learned how to lie, even to himself. If anyone asks, Derek’s plan is to try pass it off as guilt over not realizing how sick Stiles was. Which _ isn’t  _ a lie - the whole tonsillitis issue has found its place on top of the festering pile of Things That Are Derek’s Fault that lives in his gut - but it’s not the whole truth, either. Clearly.

It’s a little after seven, and Derek knows that Scott’s got plans to Skype with Allison later tonight, so he doesn’t anticipate needing to hover out of Scott’s beta hearing range for long. He’s sitting against the fence, nestled between some bushes in the backyard of the house two properties to the left of Stiles’ place. Nobody’s home and their garden is well maintained. It’s a little piece of stolen tranquility amongst the raging  _ what the fuck _ of how Derek’s spending his time these days. It’s the small things in life.

The muffled, indistinct murmur of Scott and Stiles’ conversation gains clarity with the sound of Stiles’ window sliding open.

“I’m just  _ saying, _ ” comes Stiles’ voice, “I’m  _ curious. _ It’s not a big deal.”

“You’re ‘curious’?” Scott sounds indignant. “You can’t just say something like ‘I wonder if I’m better at sucking dick now’ and expect me to not react!”

Derek’s little piece of stolen tranquility no longer feels as calming as it did.  _ What. _

“You don’t have to react like  _ that _ , though,” Stiles says. His voice carries a tiny shred of hurt, and Derek wants to move closer, soothe, but he thinks he might be part of this flowerbed now. “Is it… because of the dick thing?”

“It’s not,” Scott is quick to reassure. “You know I don’t care about that. It’s more, y’know, the  _ you _ part of it.”

“Oh, nice, Scott. That’s not a whole lot better.”

“You know what I mean. It’s, like, TMI!”

Stiles sighs loud enough that Derek can hear it. “Scott, buddy, I know so much about you and Allison’s sex life that I’m pretty sure that at this point,  _ I _ could have sex with her. We passed TMI territory about ten miles back.”

“... you want to have sex with Allison?”

There’s silence and then a  _ thwap _ of Scott getting hit by a pillow. Then a series of smaller impact sounds as Stiles pelts Scott with what sounds like half his bookshelf.

“Alright, alright!” Scott laughs. “I’m sorry, I was kidding, I’m sorry!”

“Yeah, you’d better be. We’ll see how your werewolf healing stands up to getting a dictionary to the balls,” Stiles says, but he doesn’t sound upset. Everything goes quiet for a bit, and Derek thinks that maybe Scott is leaving, but Stiles speaks up again. “I was just thinking about how, like - now that the swelling is going down, it’s basically like I have a brand new throat. A throat that has never been  _ used _ .”

Oh, God. Oh,  _ God. _

“I don’t like where this is going,” Scott says.

“Yeah, well, shut up and put up. This conversation is happening.”

“I don’t know if you can call it a conversation if there’s no actual input from a second party,” Scott points out, but Stiles shushes him loudly and, much to Derek’s fascinated horror and growing dread, continues.

“I’ve never actually, you know. Done anything. I’m about as virginal as it gets. But I’ve tested my gag reflex - stop it, Scott, don’t give me that look. You cannot judge. You and I both know that if you were into dick you would have done the  _ exact same thing _ . Anyway, I’ve never gotten that far. I’ve always run into an obstacle, and it turns out that obstacle was a prolonged tonsil infection, and now I gotta know - ”

Derek has dug his claws into the soil he’s sitting on, and yes, his  _ claws _ , because his control isn’t as good as it could be right now. He’s holding his breath. He doesn’t want to hear the end of that sentence. He  _ needs _ to hear the end of that sentence.

“ - how far can I take a dick?”


	2. sometimes a man runs into the woods and has a big old sulk all by himself. it's called being an adult, okay, you wouldn't understand

Okay, so. 

Derek’s not going to lie to himself and say he  _ hasn’t _ thought about it before. Obviously, he  _ has _ . Stiles is - he’s annoying as hell, and he’s clever, and he’s so acutely Derek’s  _ type _ that he’s been trying to avoid staring at him for a lot longer than he’s willing to admit.

And he hasn’t been avoiding facing this whole thing because of some previously unacknowledged sexuality crisis. That was taken care of back in fifth grade when he went to a boy in his class' birthday party; there was ice cream. And a pool. At this point Derek is secure in his preferences, thanks. And it's not the age thing, either. Yeah, he knows it's a  _ problem -  _ seventeen is better than sixteen, but it's still a world away from eighteen - but it's barely on the top ten list of reasons Derek is valiantly clinging to denial. Some of his reasons are better than others (it's a crime), some aren't as strong (what if Stiles doesn't like facial hair and he has to shave), and some he'll admit are just what he knows others would want to hear (it would be morally wrong to act on any feelings, purely by virtue of Derek being Derek). Either way, he has  _ reasons. _

And the main one is: he actually likes Stiles.

Even as Derek is fleeing from Stiles’ neighbourhood, beelining for the woods where he can have a small meltdown in  _ peace _ , he can’t help but think,  _ how can Stiles have never…?  _ He’s stunning, and so smart, and yeah, he might never stop talking, but that can’t be a bad thing because it means Derek gets to watch his mouth all damn day. The revelation that nobody has thought to take advantage of that quick tongue surprises Derek. And then Derek feels relieved, and then he’s mad at himself for feeling relieved, and it’s a lot of emotions to be having all at once so he finds somewhere to sit for a moment and just  _ breathe _ .

There’s a small creek on the preserve that he used to escape to as a kid, so he finds his way there, kicking off his socks and shoes so he can rest with his feet in the water. It’s another potential spot of peace in his life, but his racing heartbeat won’t get with the program.

Right. Okay.

Derek’s phone buzzes in his back pocket, and he lifts it out, hoping for a distraction. Or for the letters to jumble and swim around, so he can realize he’s in a dream. Maybe if he's dreaming then when he wakes up he won't be thinking about  _ Stiles _ and  _ dicks _ and  _ Stiles thinking about dicks. _

The text is from Scott and reads,  _ hey man i thnk i smelled u near stiles's house? is evrythng ok? _

Derek can't help but groan in frustration.  _ Everything is fine, Scott. I was patrolling. _

_ o ok _

Derek wants to put his phone away but then he's reminded of every time Stiles has said, "positive reinforcement, dude, ever heard of it?" Reluctantly, Derek types out,  _ Good job identifying my scent.  _ Then he turns his phone on silent and crams it back into his pocket.

He runs his hands down his face. So, Stiles is into dudes. Or at least into dudes enough to give some thought to blowing one. That's… fine.

Stiles is also, as he put it, 'as virginal as it gets.' Which appeals to Derek more than he's willing to admit, even to himself. It's not in a creepy, human way - it's not about taking something innocent and pure and destroying it. It's an instinctual thing. It means Derek's wolf won't want to track down the ones that came before and prove just how much  _ he's  _ the one who deserves Stiles, how  _ he's _ the alpha,  _ he's  _ the one with a claim to -

Well.

It's a lot, is what it is, so back in the denial box that goes.

Derek wriggles his toes in the water, grabs his phone (because who's he kidding, he might be a werewolf but he's still just a 23 year old, he might as well be surgically attached to the damn thing) and sees a reply from Scott.  _ thnk u!!!! :) p.s. its cool that ur patrolling by stiles's, lmk if u want me 2 hlp so we can keep him safe :)  _

This is the #1 problem again: Derek _ likes  _ Stiles. And so does everyone else in Derek’s life. 

Even Jackson, in his own way, likes Stiles. They have a comfortable mutual dislike that reminds Derek of his cousins. Despite a bumpy start with Isaac, Stiles has proclaimed them ‘bros’ now. Stiles gets along with the girls like they’ve all been best friends since childhood, and he gets along with his best friend since childhood like they’re family. He’s the true centre of the pack.

Derek has a bad track record with relationships, even when it doesn't involve murder. There's no way that he wouldn't end up making a mess of things. And when push comes to shove, who's the pack going to side with? The alpha who’s dragged them into more messes than he’s dragged them out of, or Stiles? Brilliant, human Stiles, that has a firmer grasp on his pack’s emotional needs than Derek does?

Still, all panic aside, it’s a moot point. All Derek can do - all he’s  _ going _ to do - is slap Stiles on the back and be as reluctantly supportive as he can be. Derek’s not going to do anything about any feelings he may or may not have, because they’re unrequited.

If Stiles had any feelings for Derek, he’d know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hELLO this was going to be up earlier but i spent about 3 hours compiling a playlist on spotify of songs with numbers in their titles and sorting them in numerical order
> 
> i am very glad that people are liking this! this chapter is both shorter and has gone in a different direction than i anticipated, but sometimes that's how the wind blows, baby! at least i have a clear(er) idea of what the next part needs to be? gonna be HIP gonna be FRESh


	3. breaking and entering and chores was almost one of the official love languages but just barely didn't make the cut

In an effort to prove to himself that he is _fine_ and blatantly eavesdropping on Stiles has had _absolutely no personal consequences whatsoever_ , Derek drops by Stiles’ house in the morning.

He waits until the Sheriff leaves for work before he slips in through Stiles’ bedroom window. It’s devoid of any obnoxious teenagers recovering from surgery, and when Derek listens for it, he can hear Stiles taking his meds downstairs in the kitchen. The room _has_ developed a smell, though. Which is a natural consequence of someone taking the opportunity to crank the lazy dial up to eleven while recovering from surgery. Derek should leave Stiles to stew in the mess he’s created.

It’s another ten minutes before he joins Stiles in the kitchen.

“Morning,” Derek says.

“ _Shit_ , Derek, dude, how long have you been - ” Stiles yelps, whirling around to face Derek. His expression of surprise fades as his eyes narrow. “Wait. Are those dirty dishes?”

Derek looks down at the pile he’s carrying. “Yep.”

“Are those from _my room_?”

“Yep.”

Stiles makes a face. " _Why._ "

The honest answer (the desire to protect, the desire to provide, the desire to nurture, the _desire_ ) is embarrassing, so Derek lets some disapproval into his tone as he snaps, "your room is fucking disgusting, Stiles, that's why."

Stiles makes an affronted sound. “It is not! It’s - okay, yeah, sure, it might look a _little_ disorganized to the untrained eye, but there’s a method to my madness. If anything, the assumption that my room’s a mess actually shows ignorance on your part. If you can’t recognize it for the holistic approach to organization that it is, that says more about you than - ”

“Stiles!” Derek snaps. 

Stiles freezes in the middle of gesturing broadly, eyes flicking over to Derek. “Yes?”

“You’re blocking the sink.”

“Oh,” Stiles says, and his arms sort of just float down, like he’s deflating. “We have a dishwasher.”

“Even better,” Derek says. He peers around Stiles to the shiny, chrome appliance, tucked underneath the counter beside the sink, and raises an eyebrow. “You’re blocking that, too.”

“You know what, I am going to - go elsewhere, go upstairs, and I am going to come down when I am dressed, and medicated, and able to cope with Derek Hale, in my kitchen, passive aggressively doing my dishes. Yeah,” Stiles says, and begins backing away. And then, when he realizes he’s going the opposite direction that he wants, takes as wide a berth around Derek as he can, before he turns and bounds up to his room, taking the stairs two at a time. “If you’re still being weird when I get back downstairs, I’m calling Deaton!”

“I’m not - ” Derek begins, then sighs, and mutters to himself, “I’m not being weird.”

He busies himself with stacking the dishwasher, the way he knows Stiles prefers - in the aftermath of one of their latest supernatural crises, Derek was tasked with getting a post-adrenaline crash Stiles home safely, and had been forced to endure a very rapid lecture on the superior dishwasher stacking techniques. It’s a surprisingly involved process, and Stiles had threatened to draw Derek a diagram just before he’d passed out in the passenger seat of the Camaro. It had been a long night.

By the time Stiles comes stomping down the stairs, Derek has also made himself a cup of coffee and gotten maybe a third of the way through it. Stiles’ eyes light up as he walks back into the kitchen, now in jeans and a plaid shirt over a graphic tee. It’s probably a reference to a video game or something, but Derek doesn’t recognize it, nor does he care.

“Ooh, coffee! Is there any left for me?”

Derek snorts. “Like hell you’re getting any.”

Stiles pouts, and moans, but there’s no real disappointment in it. He knows by now he’s not getting any caffeine out of Derek, but he still always asks. Or tries to steal coffee out from under Derek’s nose. Derek suspects that Stiles isn’t actually that big a fan of coffee; he just likes being a pest.

“So!” Stiles claps his hands together. “What’s the problem? Where’s the danger? What’s after us this time? Please tell me it’s something from the parts of the bestiary we’ve already translated and digitized, because I am getting so much mileage out of the latin dictionaries Lydia let me borrow that I think my dad thinks I’m trying to summon demons.” He pauses, then says, suspicious, “is it demons?”

“What are you even talking about,” Derek says, deadpan. Stiles throws his arms out and waves a hand at Derek, at the sink, the dishwasher (turned on and humming away pleasantly), and back at himself.

“This! The fact that you’re here, in my kitchen! I appreciate you pretending to be a regular human being for once, but we can cut the foreplay; what do you need me to research?”

Derek frowns, and then feels a flush of embarrassment and guilt. Does Stiles really only think that Derek would do something nice in exchange for information? He can’t even fault Stiles for that assumption. He certainly hasn’t done much to convince him otherwise. To be fair, there hasn’t been much opportunity, but Derek should have done better. He’s the alpha.

“I’m not here for research,” Derek says. “I’m here to see how you’re doing.”

Stiles blurts out, “but _why,_ ” and then looks like he immediately regrets it. He backtracks, “not to say that you’re not allowed! I mean, I’d appreciate some warning, or if you used the front door, but I know it’s a - an alpha thing? I found this book - well, I found a pdf of a book online, and most of it was bogus, but it said - you don’t care what it said. Uh.”

Derek feels suddenly, painfully, horrifically awkward. Stiles stumbling over an attempt to be cool and understanding is just driving home the fact that Derek really doesn’t know what he’s doing here. He didn’t plan this far ahead.

He defaults into looking annoyed and says, “clearly, your recovery is going fine,” and makes to leave. He’s just stepping past Stiles, out towards the back door so he can leave directly for the woods, when Stiles’ hand reaches out and snags his elbow.

“Wait,” Stiles says.

Derek waits. He glares at Stiles’ hand. Stiles removes it abruptly, which is what Derek wanted to happen, but a part of him feels a little pang of loss. Derek glares harder. “What.”

“Me and Scott were going to go to Angel’s Bakehouse to get curly fries,” Stiles says, all in a rush. “Erica’s meeting us there. Did you want to come with?”

Derek considers it for all of half a second; him, surrounded by his three loudest, most obnoxious pack members. He can’t help his grimace. “I’ll pass.”

“You sure? They’re good fries. The best curly fries in town, actually, but I hardly ever get them, because the waitresses all love my dad and keep sneaking him bacon when we get breakfast there, so we started going to the diner on Third - which isn’t _bad_ ; curly fries, by nature, can’t be _bad_ , but. They’re no Angel’s Bakehouse curly fries.”

“If you say curly fries one more time, I am going to tear out your tongue so you can never taste them again,” Derek says mildly, and then without waiting for a response, he leaves.

“That’s a no, then,” Stiles says faintly, probably once he thinks Derek can’t hear him. “Well. Good talk, as always, Derek. So nice of you to stop by, Derek. See you later, Derek.”

No, he won’t. Derek knows exactly where Angel’s Bakehouse is, and more importantly, he knows four different spots within hearing range, all behind walls of heavily fragranced flowers. If he’s careful, nobody will even know he’s there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> man this was meant to be like 500 words to make way for the scene i was actually planning to write, which i was gonna do earlier in the week so i could do my readings for my management class, which i did end up doing, but now i'm just like, god, do you ever just think about ethics
> 
> EDIT: WOWZA changed a line to "taking the stairs two at a time" because before it was "taking the room the stairs" and that is not how words WORK man JEEZ


	4. listen, there's a lot of hours in the day when you're unemployed, i dare you to try fill them with something that's not following your pack around and listening to their personal conversations. couldn't do it? no? didn't think so

So. Derek has definitely had better plans.

It's like the part of his brain that has a concept of  _ forward thinkin _ g and  _ consequences  _ and  _ plans that don't involve Derek crouched behind a dumpster indefinitely _ just shuts completely off when there's no physical threat. He's never claimed to be an expert tactician, but if it's a matter of life or death, he does okay.

When it's a case of feelings and denial winding themselves into a knot in Derek's throat, then he ends up crouched behind a dumpster.

He's crouched behind a dumpster. He'd really like not to be, but he's here now, so.

There’s construction a block or so over, so his normal spots for eavesdropping would all give him a great opportunity to experience diggers in surround sound, but none of them would give him much insight into what his betas are talking about. It occurs to him, distantly, that he could just… not expend all this effort into eavesdropping on his betas, but he’s gotten this far, and apparently he’s all about seeing things through.

So he’s crouched behind a dumpster.

Derek arrived after Scott and Stiles did, so he didn’t hear them order, but he can hear the staff complaining about needing to make six orders of curly fries. It’s probably a safe bet that that’s what his betas ordered. Erica hasn’t arrived yet; not only can Derek not hear her, but the amount of fries would have doubled if she were there. She takes a perverse pleasure in putting away mountains of food as if it was nothing more than a snack.

Tuning out the sounds of the rest of the diner, Derek listens closely to Scott and Stiles, trying to figure out what they’re doing without seeing them. They’re both doing something on their phones (texting, probably) judging by the tap-tap-tap of nails. Scott’s nails are always just a little bit long, which is a giveaway. Derek’s heard Stiles complaining about it often enough, and sure enough, Derek can hear a sigh and then, “bro, the reason you keep getting your phone confiscated in class is because everyone can hear you texting.”

A pause in the tapping. “My phone’s on vibrate, though.”

“No, not - you sound like Mrs Papadakis.”

“The school receptionist?”

“No, my secret, older lover.  _ Yes _ , the receptionist,” Stiles says. “I’m talking about your, y’know.” There’s a pause here which Derek imagines probably involves a lot of flailing gestures. “Just cut your nails.”

“You sound like my mom,” Scott says.

“Melissa McCall is a wise woman, so I’m taking that as a compliment,” Stiles says. “Cut your nails.”

“No.”

“Cut your nails.”

“No, you can’t make me.”

“I can’t - okay, now we’re on, buster.”

A few seconds pass before Derek’s phone chimes with an incoming text. He scrambles to withdraw it from his back pocket, which is no mean feat, considering how tightly he’s sandwiched in between the back of the dumpster and a brick wall. He switches his phone to silent again before he checks the notification. The text is from Stiles and reads:  _ Yo Derek youre the alpha right _

Warily, Derek replies,  _ You know that I am. _

_ And Scott is one of your betas. And because hes one of your betas technically youre the boss of him _

Derek doesn’t like where this is going. He makes this known to Stiles.  _ I don’t like where this is going. _

_ SO if youre the boss of Scott then you can tell him to do things _

Derek doesn’t have time to formulate a reply before Stiles texts again,  _ LIke telling him to cut his nails _

Seconds later, the next text comes,  _ Derek dude theyre so long tell him to cut his nails _

Derek knows, from experience, that if he ignores Stiles’ texts that he’s going to end up with a few hundred before Stiles gives up. For someone with as many focus issues as Stiles has, he’s astonishingly good at staying on task when the goal is being a dick. With a sigh, Derek pulls up his messages with Scott and types out:  _ Your nails grow faster as a werewolf. You’ll need to cut them more often. _

Inside the diner, Scott gasps, and tap-tap-taps until Derek’s phone has a new text:  _ ur jst sayin that bc stiles told u to :( _

Derek doesn’t reply. Scott’s right. They both know he is.

Erica, when she arrives, makes a scene; Derek can’t  _ see _ it, obviously, but he can hear the effects - the ambient noise of the diner dies down, conversations pause, there’s at least one utensil clattering to the ground. She’s dressed up, then.

“ _ Boys, _ ” she calls out, a grin in her voice, and after enough time has passed for her to be seated, her tone softens as she greets Stiles and Scott in turn with a, “Batman, Robin.”

“Catwoman,” Stiles greets. “You’re looking awfully predatory today.”

“Thank you!” Erica laughs, delighted. “I’m meeting up with Boyd after this.”

“It’s a lot of leather,” Scott comments. “Does this zip go all the way down to…?”

“Do you want to finish that sentence, McCall?”

“Not really.”

There’s idle chatter as Erica flags down a waiter, and after a minutes or so of ice clinking against glass and other drinking sounds, the waitstaff drop off the first few plates of curly fries. Derek doesn’t want to think about how often Scott and Stiles must come here for the diner staff to know to stagger their order.

“Oh, my God, how are you even fitting that many curly fries in your  _ mouth _ ,” Erica says, awed and horrified. Stiles tries to reply but just makes incomprehensible mumbling noises. After a few moments he tries again.

“I am not a man, I am a creature designed purely for the consumption and enjoyment of curly fries,” Stiles explains sagely. “Also, like, turns out when I got sick in seventh grade the swelling in my tonsils never actually went down again. I’ve spent  _ years _ unaware and unable to reach the heights I could have. So much throat space, so few fries.”

In a moment of uncharacteristic clumsiness (that has  _ nothing _ to do with Stiles’ words,  _ nothing),  _ Derek’s footing slips, and in the process of regaining his balance he bangs his elbow on the dumpster with a powerful and echoing  _ thunk. _ Derek freezes, worried one of the werewolves inside the diner will hear and come investigate, but neither seems to have noticed. He has never been more grateful that his betas don’t practice using their enhanced senses in their day-to-day lives.

Erica snorts. “Nice.”

Scott says, “oh, no, this isn’t going to be a repeat of what you were telling me last night, is it?”

Erica makes a curious sound and then - presumably - Stiles slaps Scott’s arm, prompting him to go, “ow, hey, what’s that for?”

“Oh, shut up. You’ll heal, you big baby,” Stiles hisses. Keeping his voice low, he says, “it wasn’t  _ supposed  _ to be about what I was saying last night. You’re the one who brought it up.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to!”

“What about what we were talking about makes it seem like something that’s appropriate to bring up in polite company?”

“I don’t know, I - ”

Erica cuts off Scott’s defensive response with a firm, “boys. Scott. Stiles.  _ What _ are you even talking about?”

There are a few moments of silence. Derek takes the lull in the conversation as an opportunity to try to shuffle himself into a more comfortable position. His legs aren’t cramping up - can’t really cramp up - but they’re getting as close as they ever do. He closes his eyes to try focus his listening, but he can’t get anything clearer than the faint whistles that indicate a hushed, whispered conversations. Derek is startled by how loud Erica’s startled peal of laughter is in comparison.

“I'm kinda mad it took me getting turned into a werewolf and almost dying a lot for us to become friends," Erica says, still giggling. "Oh, my God."

"You're just lucky you got the short version of the story," Scott mutters.

"Yes, well," Stiles says, voice kind of tight and strangled like it is when he's embarrassed and trying to power through. He's probably going red, a rush of blood staining his cheeks. Derek imagines, for a fleeting moment, that flush spreading further; how far does it go? If Stiles was pinned down, naked and bared to Derek, how far could he make that blush spread, how far down could he chase it, could he  _ taste -  _ "There are no dicks in my life. Can we move on from my sexual thought experiments and talk about something a little less totally imaginary?"

"Not that imaginary," Erica says, gleeful. "I happen to know  _ exactly _ whose dick inspired your little trip down to imagination station."

"What," Scott says, horrified.

_ What, _ Derek thinks. His heartbeat quickens just a little, not panicked, but like it's getting ready for it.

"Obviously you're thinking about our dear alpha," Erica says, and oh, okay,  _ now _ Derek's heartrate is shooting into panic mode for real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> slightly early upload can i get a he'll yeah (turns out spending 11 hours on campus means that sometimes you can squeeze in a little extra writing time (and ignore your public relations readings (don't worry about it (pls don't tell on me))))
> 
> also god i know i'm meant to be leaning heavily into the eavesdropping thing but turns out writing dialogue without using ANY visual descriptions sucks ASS


	5. derek's elbows are about to form a union and strike in protest of this flagrant mistreatment

Derek feels almost dizzy with - with something. There’s a lot going on right now.

There’s panic, for one, or something close to it. The physical characteristics are there; elevated heart rate, shortness of breath, tightness in his chest. It’s fine. It’s cool. He can deal, he can cope. There is absolutely nothing that can make him stop listening in.

“I am  _ not, _ ” Stiles protests, and even without being close enough to detect anything in his heart beat, Derek can hear the lie, clear as day. “I would never. Me? Think about - think about  _ him? _ I would never.”

“Bro,” Scott says, “I have never heard your heartbeat  _ do _ that before.”

There’s a soft  _ thump _ , and then Stiles mumbles, “Shut up, that’s not fair.” His voice is muffled, like he’s resting his face against the table, or has buried his face in his folded arms. “Friends don’t use friends’ heartbeats against them. This evidence isn’t admissible in a court of law. Judge, I call a foul.”

“Do you have a thing for Derek?” Scott asks.

“I plead the fifth,” is Stiles’ reply, still spoken directly into his arms. “None of this is admissible in court.”

Scott’s voice is low and significant when he says, “ _ bro. _ ”

Stiles just makes a sad, humiliated sound, and doesn’t say anything else. A minute follows with no conversation, and all the while Erica is laughing at Stiles, loud and gleeful.

“Is it - is it just, like…” Scott trails off, hesitant, like he doesn’t want to finish his sentence. Derek also doesn’t want him to finish his sentence, but Scott keeps talking: “Is it, like, a werewolf fetish?”

Erica’s laughter rises in pitch, until she’s squealing and gasping for breath. “A  _ werewolf fetish!” _

“Scott, I am begging you, stop talking,” Stiles pleads.

Scott powers on. “I’m just saying, if it’s just because he’s a werewolf, you have other options.”

Erica reigns in her giggles just long enough to ask, “like who? Who would you suggest?”

“Isaac,” Scott says immediately. Erica’s laughter starts anew, hysterical and breathless.

“Oh, Scott, buddy,” Stiles says.

“What?”

“I - we don’t have the time to get into that right now,” Stiles says. “It’s not - I don’t just have a  _ thing _ for werewolves.”

“Are you sure?” Scott says dubiously. “Because you could do a lot better than Derek.”

“Scott, I love you for saying that, but I really can’t.”

“But - ” Scott starts, then changes tack. “I thought you were in love with Lydia?”

“Kinda?” Derek can picture the sheepish grimace Stiles is probably wearing, his half-shrug. He’s noticed that Stiles has been mooning over Lydia less lately, but he’d figured it was just because she and Jackson have barely been in town this summer. “Turns out that while Lydia is perfect and beautiful, she’s… just a friend? I don’t know, turns out she’s just a person and a lot more fun to hang out with when there isn’t a weird undercurrent of romantic frustration on my end and cool disdain on hers.”

“Aw,” Erica coos. “Personal growth.”

“You never told me,” Scott says. It sounds like he’s pouting.

“Uh, yeah, dude,” Stiles says. “I didn’t tell anyone.”

“So why did you keep acting like you’re in love with Lydia?”

Erica cuts in before Stiles can answer and says, “obviously it was to keep anyone from noticing the super obvious crush he has on Derek.”

Derek isn’t sure he and Erica are working with the same definition of ‘super obvious.’ 

“I didn’t notice!” Scott cries out, indignant. “How was it obvious?”

Erica pauses and mutters, “God, how have you been a werewolf longer than I am? Use your  _ nose _ , Scott.”

“My… nose?”

“Forget it, Erica, if it’s not Allison’s Strawberry Daydream Blast shampoo then Scott’s not gonna sniff out anything,” Stiles says.

“That’s not  _ true _ ,” Scott protests, but after being met with silence, he amends, “... it’s Vanilla Coconut Sunshine Shower.”

“I can never tell if your love is adorable or literally sickening,” Erica says.

“Thanks,” Scott says, cheerily.

“And  _ speaking _ of love - ”

“Can we  _ not, _ ” Stiles mumbles.

“ - we were talking about Stiles and Derek, up a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G,” Erica sing-songs the last part and every damn letter sounds  _ smug. _

“Fine,” Stiles snaps. “If admitting it’ll get you to stop acting like we’re all five years old, then yes. Yes, I have a big, fat crush on Derek. An enormous crush! A crush the scale of which has been yet unobserved in nature.”

Derek’s heart thumps, hard, and his throat goes dry.

“You really like him?” Scott asks. His tone is gentle and for all he still doesn’t like Derek all that much, he doesn’t sound disapproving, just curious.

Stiles sighs. “Yeah, man, I think I really do.”

The way Stiles says that - like it’s something big, and secret, and true, cements things in Derek’s mind. Stiles  _ does _ like him. He has feelings, involving Derek, in some non-platonic way, and now Derek can see the word ‘unrequited’ slipping away in his mind’s eye. This isn’t what Derek wanted.

It’s  _ not. _ It’s what he hoped for, privately, barely admitting it to himself. And now he has it, and he has no idea what to do with it.

(That’s a lie, too. He has… God, he has too many ideas of what to do with that information. None of which he’s going to think about when he still has to walk home after this, in broad daylight, past a park and an elementary school.)

Distracted, Derek starts to anxiously crack his knuckles, and almost immediately  _ thunks _ his elbow against the side of the dumpster. Again. It seems even more deafening now.

Derek, nonsensically, holds his breath, as if that’s somehow supposed to stop Scott and Erica from being able to detect him. If they haven’t heard him by now, he reasons, there’s no reason this sudden mistake will blow his cover. He should be fine. He just has to wait until they leave, then he’s safe to emerge from behind the dumpster, and - 

“Hi, Derek.”

Derek whirls around, hitting his elbow  _ again _ in the  _ exact same spot _ , and comes face-to-face with Erica, grin wide and red and wicked, staring him down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was meant to have a whole different section afterwards BUT guess who had a migraine for SIX DAYS it was very FRESH and FLIRTY


	6. this creek is now called 'crisis creek' and you can only rest your feet if you're going through some big inner turmoil, so like, the whole gang's invited. water's great. existential angst is similarly great

Derek is ashamed to admit that he’s so surprised that he just lets his beta pull him out of his hiding spot and lead him by the hand away from Angel’s Bakehouse. The tiny part of him that isn’t stewing in mortification is quietly impressed that Erica waits until they’re definitely out of earshot of the diner before she speaks.

“I told the boys I got a text from Boyd and I’m meeting him early,” she says, answering a question that hadn’t even occurred to Derek to ask. He is relieved, though; if she’d just disappeared from the diner, they would’ve gone looking for him, and being caught out creeping behind a dumpster by Erica is bad enough.

“Thanks,” Derek grunts. Erica grins sunnily back at him.

“Sure thing, boss.”

“You can let go of me now,” Derek says.

“I’m not letting go until I can be sure you won’t run,” Erica says. “Are you going to run?”

Derek doesn’t say anything. Instead, he lets Erica drag him for five full blocks before he finally snaps, “okay, fine. I’ll follow you.”

They head to the preserve. The pack tends to avoid it like the plague when they don’t have training, like if Derek catches them there he’ll make them run suicides or start sparring. Derek finds it all kind of faintly hilarious, so he’s never tried to correct their assumption.

“Are we far enough from civilization now that you can have feelings and not, like, explode?” Erica asks.

Derek frowns. “What.”

“Y’know, you’ve got your broody, ‘don’t talk to me or I’ll eat you,’ leather, ‘I’m so dangerous’ schtick going on,” Erica says. “Doesn’t really  _ scream _ ‘happy to talk about feelings.’”

Derek frowns harder. “That’s not - you just described yourself, too.”

Erica shrugs. “Yeah, but like, I’m the emotionally available version.”

Derek huffs. They walk through the brush, aimless, until they stumble upon the same creek that Derek sat by yesterday. Erica’s showing remarkable patience, not pestering Derek for answers yet, so Derek rewards her self restraint by pausing in his steps. This creek has been the stage for his feelings-related spiraling before, so it might as well be again. 

“Oh, we’re stopping? Does this mean it’s time for feelings talk now? Are we gonna have a heart to heart? Talk about boys?” Erica asks.

“Yes, we’re stopping,” Derek says. “No to everything else.”

“Spoilsport,” Erica says, but she grins at Derek like she knows she’ll get her way. She probably will. Derek’s developed a soft spot for all his betas since the summer has started; turns out that everyone is a lot easier to get along with if there isn’t constant mortal peril. Plus, Erica’s brash confidence reminds him a little of Laura. It’s only fleeting moments, here and there, but it’s enough. If pressed, Derek would probably admit that she’s his favourite.

Well.

Second favourite.

“I’m bored now,” Erica announces. “I know you were listening to us in the diner, so you know I’m meeting Boyd later. There’s a limited window for this conversation to happen.”

“Does it have to?”

“Yes, you big baby. Come on, let’s talk about why you were creeping outside Angel’s Bakehouse, behind a dumpster, in broad daylight,” Erica says, and then pulls her phone out of her pocket. She swipes through it for a moment, then smiles and holds the screen out for Derek to see.

It’s a blurry shot, taken in motion, but Derek recognizes it instantly - it’s him. Creeping outside Angel’s Bakehouse. Behind a dumpster. In broad daylight.

“Oh, fuck,” he mutters.

“Before you try make a grab for my phone,” Erica warns, preemptively snatching it back and tucking it away again, “I’ve already backed it up.”

Derek sighs. “Of course you have.” It’s a very Laura move. Derek can’t tell if it endears her to him or if he needs to mentally readjust his ranking of preferred pack members. It’s kinda both.

“So?” Erica prompts.

“I’m your alpha,” Derek reminds her.

“And a hallmark of a good leader is open communication,” Erica says.

“This is humiliating.” 

“Another hallmark is relatability.”

Well, if Derek has to talk about this, he’s not doing it without getting his feet in that creek. It’s basically tradition now, if he can call twice a tradition. He pulls off his shoes, tucks his socks inside them, and drops down. The water’s cool, and refreshing, and does not put him at ease.

Erica looks down at her outfit and then perches on a stump just a couple yards away. “I’m not dressed for this,” she says, a little apologetic. “Are we gonna talk now?”

“I fail to see what you’d be getting out of this conversation,” Derek says.

Erica shrugs. “It’s a mix of, like, pure curiosity, and also a little bit of joy at seeing you so uncomfortable,” she says honestly. “I’m a simple woman. I’ve got simple needs.”

Derek barely resists running a hand down his face. “Fine.”

“Fine?”

“ _ Fine _ ,” he snaps. He thinks about it for a moment, trying to figure out what the best approach is. “It’s like - have you ever wanted something so bad, and you know you can’t have it, it’s not  _ for _ you, but you just… you have to look at it. You have to know it exists. That has to be enough.”

Erica’s voice is soft when she agrees, “yeah,” which - of course. Of course she gets it. She’s missed out on so much of her childhood.

“I’ve been thinking about what I want as something totally unattainable for so long that when I found out that maybe it isn’t as unattainable as I thought, it’s possible I - maybe I overreacted. Let instinct and panic motivate me for little while.”

“That makes sense,” Erica says. “My mom, when I had epilepsy, had me on this diet - really low carb, to try to manage the seizures. I hated it. I just wanted to eat normally. So after I got the bite, do you know what I did?”

Derek has an idea. “What?”

“I bought the biggest cake I could find and ate the whole damn thing myself,” Erica grins, reliving a happy memory. “It was so sweet I almost threw up.”

Derek snorts.

After a moment, Erica asks, “did you really not know that Stiles has a thing for you?”

Derek looks up at her and says, “no, I honestly had no idea.”

She lets out a low whistle. “Wow.”

“Hey, romance has never been my strong suit,” Derek defends, and Erica laughs.

“Yeah, clearly,” she teases. “What’s your plan?”

“My  _ plan _ ?”

“Yeah,” Erica says. “How are you going to seduce Stiles? Not that it’d take much, honestly. I’m pretty sure if he knew if his pathetic crush was pathetically reciprocated he’d be throwing himself at you.”

“That’s what I would like to avoid,” Derek says.

“Why?” Her eyes narrow. “It’s not, like, a thing where you’re only into him physically, right? You’re not just being weird and horny?”

“ _ No, _ ” Derek stresses, then sighs. “No. It’s kind of distressing how much that isn’t the situation.”

Erica stands up. “If I’m gonna make it to Boyd’s on time I have to go,” she says, walking over to Derek. She lays a hand on his head as she passes in a gesture that’s familiar and comforting. “I just need you to answer one thing: if you’re into him, and he’s very obviously into  _ you _ , then what’s really stopping you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha wow it has been a fuckin week amirite fellas


End file.
